Duke Nukem Novelization
by Open Maw Productions
Summary: Duke Nukem, the ultimate action hero, retells his first adventure against the nefarious Doctor Proton.    This is an adaption of a script I wrote based on Duke Nukem Manhattan Project, the original Duke Nukem game from 1991, and an outline by Steve Ward.
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

The engine of my 1968 customized hog roared beefily as I left my modest apartment complex in the rear-view.

Los Angeles was always humid-hot in the summer, even at night. The town was covered in an oily layer of moisture.

Before we go any further, I guess I should introduce myself, and what this is all about. This, you might say, is a look back on the little adventure that propelled me to stardom. My fifteen years of fame. Still going strong, by the way.

They call me Nukem. _Duke Nukem_. You might have heard of me. I'm the ultimate ass-kicker of anything that fuck's with the status-quo. Sometimes that's for the government. Most of the time it's for me.

I found myself rolling down the familiar, ever-so damp streets of Los Angeles. I tend not to show much in the way of subtlety, but this time of night, knowing my destination, and enjoying the ride, leaves me feeling good. Damn good. Not a big insight, you might say? We're just getting started.

I turned off the main road into a seedy, ever so narrow, street. The sign at the turn read "St John St." Funny. Up ahead, The throbbing neon sign. "Bikini Atoll - Hot Babes. Cold Drinks." Throbbing, because of the techno beat inside, like a steady heart. I could see the girls in my head already. Each one of them an emulation of the city itself. Dirty, covered in a film of sweat from dancing. Mana from Heaven.

I pulled into the parking-lot, killed the engine, and dropped the kick stand in one smooth move. My leg cleared the seat as I spun to face the brick building's front door. A sleezy palace with neon lights around the wooden doors, and a crimson carpet on the floor, covered in grease. The bassy beat that I predicted was already running up my legs and kicking my chest. I'm more of a metal fan myself, but whatever gets the asses shaking.

The atmosphere of the club impacts all the senses as I push the door open. The smell of cigar smoke, the thickness of the air, the vibration of the music. Two steps in, and a pretty blonde in a cocktail dress is on me with a smile and a grin. I return the expression. "Would you like a table or are you heading for the bar this evening?" Her voluptuous voice sweet and smooth. "Hmm... A table sounds good tonight."

I can't help but smile. As she leads me to a table I see all the men have their eyes glued to the stage and their mouths hanging like some twisted Gothic painting. My gaze follows their's and I nearly trip over my own two feet.

On the stage is one hell of a knock-out show. Go-go boots, long legs, curves that kill, an unbelievable rack. A face with a pair of penetrating eyes, luscious lips, and a bit of a grin. That's good, last thing we need is a crying stripper. A red-head to boot. She's beautiful for all the right reasons, not over stated, just beautiful. I hate "Barbie Doll" women.

"Damn." I audibly exhale as I find myself being ushered into my seat, the expression on my face undoubtedly a replication of all the other dumb asses in the bar.

The waitress, politely, nudges my arm. "What's your poison tonight, Duke?" I change my focus as she says my name. "I'll have a Jack and Coke on the rocks, babe." I fumble for my lighter and a Cuban as she jots down my order. A flick of the wrist, and I too am adding to that "smoking" atmosphere.

"Anything else?" She holds the order to her chest nervously, like a school girl. "That'll do me just fine." I hand her a twenty up front, and she's a leaf on the wind. My eyes lock right back onto the red head.

"She's just too good to work in this place." I find myself thinking. She has the elegance of your top Vegas performer. A body Hollywood would make a career out of. I'm not picky when it comes to women, but she fits the definition of ideal.

A dip leads to a grind, and then a spin. She runs her back along the pole with an exhale filled with head bobs at the low side of the ride down, and gracefully her head shifts. She looks _right at me_. Sends a shiver up and down my spine. It clearly effects her too. She pauses her dance for just a beat as she is drawn to the flame. Come on over, baby! Come on over...

...And, that's when the annoying prick walked in. The music cut and a short, twig of a man in a hilariously dated white suit with lavender shirt pointed an accusing finger at the dancer on stage. "JANE! I warned you." Now I know her name. Too bad for this guy, its all down hill for him already.

The prick, who I'm assuming is her distraught boyfriend at this point, makes great time across the bar, through the sea of tables, and up to the stage. He reaches impishly and grabs her by the legs. He continues to scold her, and tears her from the stage with a jealous fury. "You stay out all night, hang out in these trashy bars with all these losers. What's the matter with you! You make me look bad!" He gets the first swing on her free, a sharp back hand that cracks across her soft face.

He doesn't get the second swing.

I make it across the bar and grabs his wrist, spining him around before he can make the second strike. His burning eyes lock with mine. "Who the fuck are you!" He exclaims, tripping over his words as realises the size of the man bearing down on him.

"The name's Duke." I looked over his shoulder at the whimpering Jane, rubbing her stinging cheek. I took a long drag on my cigar at this point, and blew the smoke into his face as hard and coolly as I could. He began to cough and sputter. I continued with the smooth act. Underneath I was raging. Nobody ever hits a woman in front of me!

"Let me clue you in, Jerk off. Jane likes real men. The kind that don't make her life a living Hell. That doesn't include you, _pencil neck_." I was hoping for the response he gave me. His hand cocked back as he sputtered a "Why you son of a-!" And I caught the swing with my own hand. I could hear the cartilage and bone snapping like a collapsing tree under the pressure I exerted on his puny fist.

Bear in mind, I wasn't trying to show off. I may not be a lot of things, but the one thing I most certainly am is chivalrous. Unless the bitch starts in with the feminist crap. I hate that.

Anyway, I've got the guy by the fist, he's dancing like he's on fire, trying to get himself loose from the bear-trap he finds himself in. I take the opportunity to swing him around into the table section of the bar. Letting him go, I give him the hardest punch, right across the face. POW! He goes spinning, crashing over one table and taking the contents with him as he manages to tumble over himself and destroy another one behind him. If this were a cartoon, he'd be seeing stars.

Without missing a beat, I turned to face the stunned and stunning damsel, Jane. Her hand had shifted from cheek to mouth. Her expression, a combination of self-aware embarrassment, and utter shock. Her eyes shifted to mine as I spoke.

"So Jane... Care for a drink?" I figured I might as well go all the way. Her hands motion towards her body as she tries to find the words. "Um... Mind if I, uh, get dressed first?" She smiled just a little. I gave her a big one in return. "Why waste the time?" She realized I wasn't joking, I know this, because her little smile turned into an intensely serious expression. Not one of distaste, but of desire.

I have that effect on women.

The waitress handed me my drink as Jane and I made our way to the bar. "Beer." Jane made her request curtly, giving me a nervous, shifty-eyed glance. I took a sip of my own drink as I planted down on one of the cozy leather stools.

"Hey, asshole!" That familiar, Mexican-accented voice tore through my ear drums on my six O clock. I looked over my shoulder, and saw the pricky boyfriend standing with three of his posse. His taunting continued. "We're gonna bust you up!" His compadre's seemed to agree.

Punks.

I gave Jane a glance, smiled again, took a mighty drag on my cigar, and spun around in my seat. I threw my leather jacket to the side for effect.

Morons didn't know who they were messing with. They couldnt come up with a pair of balls between the four of em.

I had just one thing left to say to them before the blood started to run.

"_Come get some_!"


	2. The Briefing

_Chapter 01  
"The Briefing" _

I got the call at ten in the morning. I was all snug in my bed with the beautiful babe, Jane, to my right when the damn phone rang with its annoying clatter.

I licked my dried lips and picked up the ol' receiver. "Duke here." I said, fighting back the heavily layered tired. "Duke..."An all-too familiar voice, with just a glimmer of desperation, started. "...It's General Graves."

A sly grin cut across my face. "It's been a long time, General." I responded, letting the good feelings flow.

General Graves and I go way back. Before he was even a General. He commanded a small unit of Navy SEALs. An elite unit among elite units. We were the absolute top of the class of kicking ass. That all came crashing down when a certain bad ass disobeyed orders and threw a certain terrorist over a cliff after lighting his beard on fire.

I don't believe in taking prisoners when we're dealing with mortal enemies. Rings too true of political correctness and being an all around pussy for my taste. Wars are fought to defeat, crush, and eliminate the enemy. Not drink tea with them and try to understand their plight.

Graves, being the honorable bastard that he is, wouldn't fold in his defense of me, and for a time he had a set back in his career.

I don't call many people my friend: Graves _is_.

By this time, Jane had leaned up in bed to my right, the sheets falling into her lap, and her bare breasts pressing into my back. She clung to me like I was a giant pillow, resting her head on my shoulder with a content sigh. I put my arm around her and listened as Graves continued.

"We have a situation Duke. Something big has gone down." I could tell by his tone that Graves was deadly serious. Whatever was going on, this was a no B.S. scenario. "I'll be there in two hours." My statement filled with a stone resolve.

The cute blonde waitress from last night, who had also been deeply impressed by my acts of machismo, rose up from under the covers on my left and wrapped her arms around me too. I raised a brow in her direction, and made an adjustment to the time table. "Uh... Make that _three_."

After starting the day with a big bang, I was on a chopper heading for DC, where the entire national defense was reeling and backpedaling under whatever emergency situation had occurred.

Graves didn't give me any details on the phone for obvious security reasons, but by eavesdropping on the choppers radio I learned the President had apparently been evacuated to a secure facility, and entire military divisions were being mobilized to the eastern seaboard. The radio traffic gave me a few vague clues about some kind of destruction in New York. Explosions, casualties, and collateral damage. Nothing was quite piecing together. No "whos," or "whys," yet.

I was escorted by a couple of buff military guys from the chopper to The Pentagon. Inside Graves was apparently waiting for me. As we marched the well groomed landing pad into the main hall of The Pentagon, I asked one of the boys what their military branch was, to which he replied in typical military cadence "Sir, Green Berets, _sir_!" I chuckled at his answer. I eat Green Berets for breakfast!

The command center was bustling with activity. Dozens of military technicians and brass moving from station to station trying to soak up the data coming in. Picture mission control at NASA, with hundreds of computer screens and lines of control stations monitoring everything about any given military target. In this case: Manhattan.

Graves, a general who embodies "Salt and Peppery", like some great bird perched on a branch, was standing in front of all this like any stand up commander. Taking in everything he could. He wasn't in a panic like everyone else, but he was clearly uneasy. There was a lot to digest.

Come to think of it... Almost made _me_ a little nervous, too.

A secretary in military dress handed Graves a beige file marked "classified." She was cute, in a conservatively dressed sort of way. She marched off a moment later, which was my cue to make my presence known. I cleared my throat.

Graves turned, motioning off the Green Beret escort, and locked his stern gaze with mine. His eyes housed a veteran's stare. Even after years of being an official paper-pushing desk officer, the bastard still had his balls.

God Bless em!

"We're in a crisis situation, _Duke_." His first line out the door as he pulled his cigar from his lips. "I'm _ready for action_, General." I gave him a confident reply. He nodded "Glad to hear it. Let's get you briefed, then." Graves motioned me with his free hand and started out of the command center, heading towards a private briefing room.

Inside the briefing room, I took my seat as Graves flipped off nearby light switches and turned on a large screen monitor. A 3D hologram laid over an infared satellite image of Manhattan. The military loves their briefings.

There were large bright spots, showing sources of heat. The left overs of police, military, and other targets taken out by whoever was behind this. I lit my own cigar as Graves turned to face me.

"Earlier this morning, there was an attack in New York. We're in the dark as to who is behind this, but we do know they are well equipped, and have intimate knowledge of our national defenses." Graves paused, almost as if he was aware of the drama in the act. "As near as we can tell, all police, fire, and military in and around greater Manhattan have been completely destroyedm and that's _just for starters_. It get's worse. We tried to insert three platoons of marines into Manhattan, but they were annihilated, along with their air support. The President was hesitant to call you into this situation because of your... _infamous_ reputation in dealing with terrorists. To be honest I don't blame him. This isn't some mountain dwelling camel jockey we're dealing with this time. Duke, this guy is using advanced model autonomous killing machines, part of a large classified military project entitled "Operation : Tech-bot," as his front line defense." Graves was drawing to my favorite part. Go time.

"Let me guess, you want me to go in there and smash this guy's operation? _No problem_." I puffed on the stogie as Graves straightened his tie. "There's one complicating factor. We believe one of the worlds brightest minds was kidnapped by whoever is responsible for this. A Doctor Damien Blunderwitz, and his daughter Elise, disappeared from their home in Florida six months ago." Graves paused dramatically once more. "Baxter was in charge of the tech bot program." He continued. "So you think whoever is behind this has forced this Doctor Blunderwitz to build them an army of robot killing machines?" I accented my words with my free hand. Graves nodded.

Graves went on at some length about the various designs under the tech-bot banner. Small, medium, and large basically. I didn't bother to pay much attention to the finer details. It's not my job to know how the multi-phased nano-plasma injection system works. Its my job to blow it up _real good_! Bottom line, some can fly, some are the size of a bomb defusal robot that roll on treads with a 30 calibre machine gun and a built in AI tracking system... and some are as big as people, with multiple armaments including rail guns, shoulder mounted mini-rocket packs, and a wrist mounted chain gun.

Sounded like my kind of party.

Graves and I were walking back out to the main control center when all the computer screens went dark. "What the..." I was cut off mid sentence as a silhouetted figure tore onto the screen. There were no details, just a shadow. A bald head and broad shoulders.

When the figure spoke, his voice was distorted, like it was being run through a cheesy oscillator: "To the people of the United States of America. I am Doctor Proton, your new leader! You will surrender all your nuclear weapons to my control within the next two hours or I will destroy one of your most prized historical land marks."

The screen changed to an image of The Statue of Liberty. There was an audible gasp from everyone in the room. Including myself. The impact to national morale if Lady Liberty was destroyed would be staggering.

"Get a fix on his signal, now!" Graves barked. The screen returned to the silhouetted figure. "Any further resistance will be met with severe penalties. As of right now, my New World Order, has begun!" The shadowy figure continued.

"Is this joker for real?" I thought to myself. He was raving like an old super villian. I couldn't help but laugh... Just a little.

Hearing enough of this tin plated dictator's ranting, I turned to Graves. "Where's my stuff?" My resolve steeled. A warm, proud, smile crossed Graves's face.

I was taken to an enormous armory, where my gear had been dropped off. Aside from my personal side arm, a Colt M1911 with some internal tweaking by Yours Truly. I was taking in a dozen hand built pipe bombs with a remote trigger, a hand held M203 grenade launcher with six grenades, an MP5HK with armor piercing rounds, and my custom rigged A.L.I.C.E. ammunition belt.

The sound of full magazines sliding into place, actions being primed, and pouches being stuffed with extra ammo was like a chorus of baddassery.

Whoever this "Proton" asshole was, I was looking forward to personally delivering my rebuttal to his demands... In the form of _red hot lead_!


End file.
